


Danger! High Voltage

by Ptolemia



Category: Ghostbusters (2016), Ghostbusters - All Media Types
Genre: Crack, F/F, Fluff, Holtzmann Is A Trash Gremlin, Humour, What has my life become, i cant believe ive written 5000 words of ghostbusters femslash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-21
Updated: 2016-07-21
Packaged: 2018-07-25 18:31:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,279
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7543381
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ptolemia/pseuds/Ptolemia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Erin Gilbert, local heterosexual, attempts to flirt with a man at a bar after saving the world. Also, Holtzmann is there.</p><p>It doesn't work out exactly as planned.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Danger! High Voltage

**Author's Note:**

> Right, I'm prefacing this with a disclaimer that I know it's very much... bordering around being crack!fic........... BUT LISTEN. I had to do my bit to provide for this wonderful ship. Also, I got massive 'repressed bi' vibes off Erin I mean... maybe im just..... massively projecting.......... BUT HEY that's the kinda vibe i'm goin for, only taken up to a 10 and played for laughs cos i ain't abt that angst life. 
> 
> The title is ofc a reference to the song of the same name.
> 
> Also, come follow me @ moist-von-lipwig.tumbr.com (I'm takin Holtzbert prompts if anyone wants to drop me a line)
> 
> enjoy!

After saving the world, they hit the bars. Of course. That was pretty much a given. What _is_ unexpected is that people seem to... actually want to talk to them? And not just talk - the man currently speaking with Erin Gilbert is, she's pretty certain, genuinely _flirting_ with her. Which is new. She has to admit that he is, objectively speaking, not that hot – but by comparison to the general calibre of men who (on very rare occasions) had actually tried to chat her up prior to the whole 'saving the city' thing, he's definitely distractingly hot enough that she doesn't notice Holtzman approaching until she hears a loud, “BOO!” in her ear, accompanied by a hail of damp pringle fragments.

Erin screams. “Oh my god!” and then, “Oh- oh, it's you. Don't do that.”

Holtzman grins through a mouthful of pringles, then upends the tube into her mouth, casts it aside, and says, “I ain't 'fraid of no ghosts.

“Pardon?” says Erin.

The man- Jake? Jack? John? well, one of those, anyway, looks vaguely bemused, and not a little put out. “Your... friend?” he asks, eyeing Holtzmann carefully.

Holtzmann chuckles, and rests her head on Erin's shoulder, staring the man down. “Hey, who's your boyfriend, Gilbert?”

“This is- uh-” Erin fumbles frantically for a name, but it's gone. Darn it. All she can think of is equations, and for some reason the fact that Holtzmann smells _really_ good beneath the vague aroma of sour cream and onion chips. “This is, um, a guy,” she manages, rather lamely, “A guy who is, ha, not my boyfriend. Just a. Regular ol' guy I'm having a chat with. Here at the bar.” She makes finger pistols.

The guy who may or may not be called John does not make finger pistols back, and Erin slightly wants to die. “So, uh, who's your friend?” he asks, “She must be one of your... 'ghostbusters', right? That's cute.”

Holtzmann takes a deep breath, rustles in her pocket, and digs out another packet of crisps. She opens it. She jams her entire hand in.

“Oh,” mutters Erin, “Really, with the- you'll get the dust over everything, Holtz, please-”

Holtzmann maintains eye contact with the guy formerly known as John, who Erin is now thinking might actually be a Jake after all, and shoves the entire handful straight into her mouth. She chews with her mouth open, swallows, licks her lips and says, “Is it?”

Schrodinger's Jack looks at her. “Uh. Excuse me?”

“I said,” says Holtzmann, spitting ambiguous starchy lumps as she reaches for another fistful of chips. “Is it cute?”

 

“Alright,” mutters Erin, trying to do damage control on a situation which is very quickly beginning to resemble the time one of the fission devices started leaking and they only had band-aids and three point four metric tonnes of hair-gel (long story) to patch it up until Patty got back with the proper equipment, “Ok, no, Holtzmann, that's absolutely not acceptable, you- you apologise to- um- to the... the nice man...”

“Mmmkay, anything f'r you, sweetie,” says Holtzmann, still chewing loudly. “You want a chip, big boy?”

“Don't call him that!” snaps Erin.

“What 'm I supposed to call him, then? Chunky lad? Long dude?”

“No!

“Then what?”

“His name!"

“Which is...?”

Erin can feel herself sweating. “It's- uh, it's a very nice... name... that he has... uh...”

The man who may, in fact, actually be a 'chunky lad', smiles. Or maybe it's a grimace. Erin's never been great with faces. “Uh, I'm not all that hungry, actually,” he says, nodding curtly at Holtzmann “but thank you for-”

“Good,” says Holtzmann, pulling a single chip out of the bag and licking it. “Cos I was gonna do that anyway.” She licks the chip again for good measure before shoving it into her mouth. “They're my chips.”

 

Erin sighs. “Don't offer him one if you're just going to use it as some kind of peculiar... I don't even know what you're doing,” she laughs, nervously, turning to the man with an attempt at a conspiratorial wink, “I never know what she's up to. Totally wild. I mean, really.”

“Oh yeah,” agrees Holtzman, grinning like a hyena, “Yeah, I'm preeeeetty out there. Pretty out there.”

“Exactly,” says Erin, nodding, smiling, hoping that this guy (whose name is in the grand scheme of things less important than the fact that he has actually and against all odds shown _some_ level of interest) won't be totally put off by Holtzmann's little... whatever that was. “Yes, well, there you go, you get to meet one of my fun and zany friends, haha. Lucky you. Lots of... um... fun. Yep.”

“Very fun,” he says, looking as though he's trying to sidle away.

“Mmmhmm,” says Holtzmann, “Yeah, I totally lick things to claim them. Fun.”

“Is that _actually_ fun? Because-” begins Erin, rounding on Holtzmann and about to give her a real piece of her mind about cutting in on people's conversations.

 

Only then Holtzmann grabs her by the shoulders, grins, says “Well, you tell me,” - and before Erin can do a thing about it she licks an enormous stripe up her face, from the bottom of Erin's chin just below her eye.

The man takes one look at that, stands up, and turns straight around. He doesn't stop walking until he's out of the bar, over the road, and out of sight.

“What a wimp,” sniffs Holtzman, pausing to suck chip dust off her fingers with apparent relish, “You wanna hang with the big boys, you gotta lick like the big boys, that's what I always say.” She flashes a wink at Erin. “You're welcome, by the way. He wasn't worthy.”

 

“What the-” Erin breathes deeply through her nose and grits out an, all things considered, relatively calm, “What the _heck_ , is your goddamn _problem_ , Holtzmann?”

Holtzmann grins. “You want the list?”

“I- no!”

“Then why d'you ask?”

“That- urgh. Urgh! I'm so angry. I am. I am not a happy person right now, ok? Ok.”

Hotzmann cocks her head. “Huh. How come?”

Erin makes a soft screaming noise in the back of her throat. “Oh my god. You know that guy was- he was flirting, ok. Flirting!”

“... ok.”

“Flirting!”

Holtzmann shrugs. “Yeah, I figured. You were kinda flirting back, huh?”

“Nobody- I haven't had a guy flirt with me since- since- since I did the school musical back in high school.”

“Huh.”

“And that was acting! It was on stage!! He- oh my god. Holtzmann! I can't believe you _ruined_ -”

Holtzmann rolls her eyes. “Yeah, yeah, whatever. You'll live.”

“You ruined it! He's gone away now! Why did you-”

“He wasn't even that hot. Jeez. Cool it.”

“Listen. I don't- I don't get a lot of people flirting with me. I can't afford to be picky!”

Holtzman smirks, tugging her glasses down her nose with a sly little wink. “Oh, ok... yeah, I gotcha.”

“What?”

“You want people to flirt with you, Gilbert?”

“I mean, I-”

“You're not picky?”

“Well-”

Holtzmann grabs her waist. “Sweet. Wanna fuck?”

 

There's a very long silence which, technically, isn't a silence at all because they're in a crowded and very noisy bar, and then Erin remembers to breathe and manages to choke out a startled. “Uh- pardon?”

Holtzmann's grin widens. “I said,” she clears her throat and speaks slowly and far too loudly for Erin's liking, “do you wanna fuck?”

“Oh,” says Erin, feeling blood rushing to her cheeks and wishing to whatever powers scientists are allowed to slightly believe in when somewhat drunk that she wasn't so easy to fluster, “Oh, I- I'm flattered but I- I like guys. Men. Um.”

“Ok,” says Holtzmann, cheshire cat smile plastered across her face like the wind just changed and it's stuck that way, “But... do you wanna fuck, though?”

“I... I mean I... you heard me when I said I liked guys, right?”

“Yeah, so did my ex. You can like _both_ , Gilbert.” She pauses, and cocks her head. “Well. I say ex. We kinda banged in an alley a couple times. Does that count as a relationship? Anyway... question stands. Do you wanna-”

Erin slams her hand over Holtzmann's mouth. “I heard you the first time!”

Holtzmann licks Erin's palm, and winks. Belatedly, Erin realises that Holtzmann still has a hand on her waist.

Erin takes a deep, steadying breath. “We- we work together. It would. It would be a bad idea.” She removes her hand from Holtzmann's mouth, and tugs Holtzmann's hand away from her waist. “And I like guys,” she adds, so belatedly that it sounds stupid even to her. “Only guys! I've never had a a massive crush on a woman and repressed it until it went away! Ever!! Haha!!!”

 

Holtzmann takes a long, slightly concerned look at her, then shrugs. “Ok.”

Erin takes a long sip of her drink. “Well, glad we got that sorted.”

“Sure. You ever change your mind, though...”

“Guys, Holtzmann! Men!”

“I mean, I can go down on you and you can call me Kevin or something, I'm really not fussy about-”

“I don't want to call you Kevin! Oh my god!”

“... ok.”

Erin puts her head in her hands. “I shouted that, didn't I?”

Holtzmann shrugs. “A little.”

“It probably sounded like I was, ha, in denial. Or something.”

“I mean...”

“I'm not. Just. By the way. I'm totally happy with- well.”

“Ok.”

“But... did you offer to- um-”

Holtzmann winks again. “Oh yeah. Standing offer. Totally up to you.”

 

Erin glances over at Patty and Abby, both deep in conversation and, thankfully, looking the other way. “I mean...”

Holtzmann raises an eyebrow.

“On the understanding that I am totally straight.”

“Sure.”

“And we're- we're both kinda drunk, right?”

“Oh yeah.”

“And we just saved the city and we're kinda-”

“Oh _yeah_ we are,” says Holtzmann, biting her lip and... writhing, slightly in her chair. It's fascinating, and also vaguely alarming, which is classic Holtzmann.

“Right.”

“Right.”

“So, uh...”

Holtzmann leans in. “So...?”

Erin clears her throat, coming to her senses for a moment. Thirty-odd years of stern, sensible repression surface at once, and she shakes her head as though she's clearing it of water. “Jeez, what am I- what am I _saying_? No. That would. Be a bad idea.”

 

Holtzmann shrugs. “Like I say, your shout. I'm easy.” She flutters her eyelashes. “ _Real_ easy. Also, already got two numbers tonight so, lots of options. No pressure.”

“Yeah,” mumbles Erin, feeling oddly deflated. “Um. That's great. Well done.”

Holtzmann reaches for the cherry in Erin's drink. “Ok. You gonna eat that?”

Erin shakes her head glumly. Maybe she should head home.

Holtzmann grabs the cherry and pops it into her mouth, stalk and all, maintaining eye contact the whole time. After a few seconds, she makes a loud rasping noise and spits the cherry stalk, now tied in a perfect knot, straight into Erin's drink, along with a large wad of spit.

Erin stares down at her martini, then glances back at Holtzmann. “That was... _almost_ extremely hot,” she hears herself say, despite her better judgement and sense of basic hygiene.

“Eh, 'almost' is good enough for me. Seduced yet?”

“I'm not- Holtzmann, you just got a whole bunch of your spit in my drink. That is- that's not a seductive move.”

“Ok, well, uh, you want a whole lot of my spit in your mouth?”

“Oh my god.”

“I meant, like, making out.”

“Oh my _god_.”

“With tongues.”

“Fuck!” says Erin, and then she realises that she just swore very loudly in public and mumbles, “Shit, _fuck_ ,” and then she realises that unless she occupies her mouth with something else very quickly she's going to _keep_ swearing very loudly in public and so – for that reason and that reason only - she grabs Holtzmann by the collar and drags her in for a kiss.

 

Holtzmann makes a soft growling noise that goes straight to Erin's- uh, stomach, or something, and pulls back long enough to mutter, “I just had a really great idea about a gun I'd like to- uh, remind me to write that down later-”, and then she goes in again. There's... a lot of tongue. Erin kinda thinks she _should_ think this is gross. Erin kinda also thinks being gross with Holtzmann is suddenly deeply appealing. At some point she ends up in Holtzmann's lap, which is a lot more complex than it should be because they're sat on bar stools, and there's a lot of contact with- well, she has a thigh between her legs and one of her hands fiddling with the zipper of Holtzamann's jumpsuit before she remembers that they're in public and-

“Patty and Abby,” she blurts, leaning back so fast she almost falls right off the stool. Kinda lucky Holtzmann has both hands tight round her waist like that. Huh.

“Wha?” slurs Holtzmann, looking slightly unfocused behind her glasses.

“Just- they- they can't see this. We should-” Erin almost says 'stop', and then she doesn't because, screw it, she's just about drunk enough to write this all off as an alcohol-fueled mistake tomorrow, so instead she lowers her voice and says, “- go somewhere else.”

Holtzmann blinks. “Oh! Oh. Yeah, I mean, I know a really comfy dumpster in this alley which is pretty near-”

Erin just... looks at her.

“Ok, so, correct me if I'm wrong but based on the face you're pulling, I'm getting this vibe that you don't like dumpsters.”

“Not to- not for _this_ , Holtz.”

“Alleys? Or is the whole, like, grotty outdoor places thing not-”

“No!”

“Do public toilets count as-”

“Holtz!”

“Ok, ok, sheesh! Fancy lady, huh? Yeah, I can dig it. Uh, hotel?”

“Hotel _which is clean_ , okay?”

Holtzmann rolls her eyes. “So fussy. You're lucky you're pretty. But on second thoughts I'm kinda broke, though, so...”

 

Erin almost chokes. “I'm pretty?”

“Maybe it's just my goggles, let me-” Holtzmann tugs her glasses off, and blinks a few times. “Nah, I was right first time. As always. Very pretty.”

“... this- this is still a bad idea. Just. I'm just putting that out there.”

“All the best ideas are.”

“That doesn't make sense.”

“Making sense is overrated,” says Holtzmann. Then she winks, and starts quietly humming something which sounds a lot like 'let's get physical', which is... not entirely surprising, in all honesty. After a moment she pauses her humming and says, “Y'know, I'd say 'your place or mine' but my place is currently irradiated to shit and I'm sleeping under at table at HQ so, uh...”

“Uh-huh?”

“Yeah. I got roaches, too, so. There's that. And a hole in the roof. Hey, the radiation mighta killed some of the roaches, though! Only I'm pretty sure they're kinda resilient so maybe not... but still.”

“You know, when you put it like that, my place sounds really great.”

“Pfft, sure, if you're gonna be fussy about, y'know, basic hygiene. And radiation. Now c'mon,” she mumbles, grabbing Erin's hand, “we gonna bounce or what?”

 

Erin gives Holtzmann a long, hard stare. “... yes. I just need to, um, come up with a reason why I should leave to keep Patty and Abby-” she glances behind her and, thank god, the two are now arm-wrestling and totally oblivious to what Erin is beginning to think of as the Holtzmann Situation, “- uh, to keep them. You know. Non-suspicious about what we're up to.”

“Why?”

“I- I just don't want to...” she shakes her head. “Let's not go there.”

“Whatever you say, cap'n,” says Holtzmann, doing a little salute for absolutely no good reason at all.

“Now, my idea is that you leave first - tell them you just thought up a new gun, they'll buy it - and then, after approximately ten minutes I will claim to need an early night, after which we rendezvous in a nearby street, from which-”

Holtzmann puts a finger on Erin's lips. “You think, like, way more than you need to. I've got this.”

“What are you-”

“Hey. C'mon. Just roll with it.”

“I'm not sure-”

 

“ABBY,” yells Holtzmann, “PATTY, HEY, LOOK AT ME!”

“Oh no no nononono,” begins Erin, “That is not a thing which you should-” But it's too late. Patty and Abby are already looking over, vaguely bemused.

“WHAT?” yells Abby.

“GILBERT'S GONNA VOM,” shouts Holtzmann, “I'M GONNA GET HER HOME.” She nudges Erin, and drops her voice to whisper, “Try looking more green, huh?”

“WHAT SHE HAVE, LIKE ONE DRINK?” yells Patty, “MAN, YOU'RE A LIGHTWEIGHT, ERIN, I EXPECTED BETTER.”

“I'M NOT A-” begins Erin, but Holtzmann nudges her again, urgently.

“You want to sell this?” she hisses. “Come on, get it together.”

Erin feels herself cringe right to the bottom of her very soul, and then makes the loudest wretching noise she possibly can.

Patty and Abby both pull faces.

Erin bends double and dry-heaves like her life depends on it. Well, her reputation does, anyway, which in her eyes is sort of the same thing.

“GET HER OUT OF HERE,” yells Patty, looking utterly appalled. “SHE BETTER NOT HURL IN PUBLIC, PEOPLE KNOW WHO WE ARE NOW. SHE'S GONNA GIVE US ALL A BAD NAME!”

Holtzmann does another one of her stupidly attractive two-finger salutes calls out a chirpy “I GOT THIS!” to Patty and Abby, then slings her arm around Erin's waist again and hauls her straight off the stool and toward the door. Distantly, Erin can hear Abby yelling at Holtzmann to make sure she gets a drink of water, at least, and then the door of the bar swings closed and they're out in the street, half wrapped around each other again.

 

“That,” snaps Erin, as Holtzmann tugs her down the street in a fashion which suggests she has some kind of plan about where they're going next, “was undignified.”

“Eh,” shrugs Holtzmann, waving frantically to hail a cab with her free hand, “It was kinda hot.”

“What, me pretending to almost throw up?”

“I mean... a little.”

“Oh my god.”

“It's fine, you don't have to do it again. I have a photographic memory. It's up here,” she taps her head cheerfully, “for when I need it.”

“Oh my- never say that to me again.”

Holtzmann hums in agreement, eyes sparkling. “Don't need to. C'mon, cab's here, get in.”

 

Erin slides into the cab in a vague daze, stupidly nervous and, after a few minutes, totally unable to look Holtzmann in the eye because, after a request to “keep your hands to yourself, Holtz, please, think of the poor driver” she's been... well, doing exactly that. Making eyes from the other side of the cab and trailing her hands up and down her own thighs, thrusting her hips so subtly that it's almost not noticeable unless you're looking at her very, very closely. Which Erin. Is. Well, _was_ – now she's looking firmly out of the window, face burning, trying not to think about whatever Holtzmann's doing that's got her making soft breathy noises over on the other seat. Jesus. Mostly, though, she's trying to steel herself, not chicken out and draw back into whatever shreds of plausible deniability she has left like she usually does with this kind of thing. Only, somehow, this doesn't feel how it normally does – it feels too important to just run away from, and _that's_ another scary thought, so she does what she does best and shoves it as far away from her conscious mind as she can.

 

By the time the cab stops she's so keyed-up that she hardly makes it out onto the curb before she's got a hand in Holtzmann's hair and another gripping onto her waist and, oops, looks like she's just gone and pinned Holtzmann up against a wall and snogged the ever-loving shit out of her for a good minute or two solid. It happens to the best of us. Probably.

“Nnngh,” mumbles Holtzmann, tilting her head aside for a moment and trying to catch her breath, “Y'know, you're an extremely tense person. You should work on that.”

“What do you think I'm doing right now?”

“Uh, yeah, I get ya, wink-wink relieving tensions and all that but- but I think maybe something more- have you tried yoga? Pilates? Like... massage therapy or something, I dunno.”

“What?”

“Well, y'all could probably do with actually relaxing like, on the regular. You have extremely tense shoulders.”

“Right.”

“I'm thinkin,” says Holtzmann, running a thoughtful hand over Erin's shoulder blades, “What if I put a couple hundred volts through you, do you think-”

“Absolutely _not_ , no. No way.”

“Controlled lab environment, of course, and I'd wire you up so that-”

“No!”

“Shame. Would've been, uh... interesting. And maybe even actually relaxing.” Holtzmann has a look in her eye which Erin really doesn't like to associate with the idea of somebody electrocuting her – only her damn traitor of a stomach seems to disagree, because it's doing flips right now.

 

“We should, uh, we should go inside,” Erin says, trying not to let anything going on in her head show on her face and, judging by how Holtzmann's looking at her, totally failing, “I mean – what are we doing out here anyway? What will my neighbours think if I- I have a reputation to maintain, you know!”

“You kinda backed me up against the wall,” says Holtzmann, which is... actually a really good point. “Also, I don't know which building your apartment's in. No, that's a lie. I do. And I know which apartment is yours, too.”

Erin sighs. “Do I want to know how and why you know that?”

Holtzmann jangles a bunch of keys in front of her face. “Just picked your pocket. You've got it all written on your little luggage-tag thingy on your keys.”

“Don't- why did you pick my pocket?”

“That's, uh, probably not a great move, security wise. Having it all written out on the keys like that.”

“You picked my pocket!”

Holtzman gives her a long, narrow stare. “Everyone likes a bad girl, Gilbert,” she deadpans.

“Ok, well, I don't know about 'everyone', but in my books, petty theft is not attractive.”

“You sure?”

Erin looks at the keys, then at Holtzmann (grinning, slightly pink), then back at the keys. “Just... let me into my apartment, please.”

Holtzman salutes. “Yes _sir_ ,” and then spins round on one heel and opens the door to the apartment block with a flourish.

 

Erin sighs, adds that to the rapidly growing list of 'things she totally didn't know she had a thing for until Holtzmann started making eyes at her', and follows, trailing a few steps behind the whole way up to the apartment door. Ahead of her, Holtzmann is bouncing along, humming to herself. Whatever the tune is, she's making it sound spectacularly discordant, something which Erin normally finds deeply irritating, but right now the sight of Holtzmann fumbling the keys in the lock and emitting periodic loud screeching noises is... endearing, maybe?

“Do you need a hand with that?” she asks, after a moment.

“What? Pfft, no, I know how to open a door,” says Holtzmann, “Hey, watch this!”

Erin reflexively takes a large step back and throws her hands over her eyes, which is a very wise reflex to develop when spending large amounts of time in close quarters with Holtzmann. Unfortunately, in this instance it proves to be counter-productive. She hears a smacking noise, and then a loud crack and a whoop – and by the time she's realised she probably should have intervened to stop this, Holtzmann's already kicked the door in and is punching the air in celebration.

“Oh HELL yeah!” she whoops, cackling to herself as she adjusts her goggles, “So cool!” and then, slightly more quietly, as she puts her foot down again, “... I think I broke my toe. Aw.”

Erin grabs her arm, trying to steady her slightly, “Holtz, you- please don't do that again.”

“Well, I can't even if I wanted to, since the lock's busted now. It's stayin' open.” She catches Erin's eye and her grin falters. “I uh, guess I owe you a lock. Sorry. Got over-excited. I'm feeling kinda-” she shakes her head like a dog trying to clear its ears of water, then grabs Erin by the arms again and pulls her in for a kiss.

 

It's all teeth and heat and unbalancing in more than one sense, but mostly in the sense that Holtzmann launches into it with the perfect mix of enthusiasm and poor balance that sends them both crashing into a wall, and Erin just has time to catch herself before she realises that it's not a wall, it's the door, and that the door is now unlocked and-

 

They land with a crash, and it turns out that having somebody fall on top of you unexpectedly is actually not anything like as romantic as it looks in all those rom-coms that Erin would swear blind she's never seen despite the fact that she actually has almost a hundred on dvd and watches one pretty much every weekend. Having somebody fall on you does not, she discovers, result in a startled apology, a long significant glance and then a slow, tasteful kiss. It results in their heads smacking together in a way she just _knows_ is gonna bruise, almost losing an eye to the rim of Holtzmann's glasses, and smashing a mug which she managed to knock off the coffee table on the way down.

 

And then Holtzmann blinks, adjusts her glasses, says, “Hey, uh, sorry about the mug. And. Your door. And, uh...” she hesitates, looking about as soft as it's possible for Holtzmann to look, and brushes a strand of hair out of Erin's eyes, “... and this, I guess,” she mumbles, and kisses her. _Oh_ , thinks Erin, and then - wow, well, maybe those rom-coms weren't so wrong about all this after all. Not that she watches them. Of course. She's a serious scientist, she doesn't watch _rom-coms_. And if she does she definitely doesn't compare Holtzmann to a romantic lead in one of them. That would be patently ridiculous. Still, for maybe half a second, it almost seems like the idea might not be so crazy after all.

 

At which point Holtzmann sits bolt upright, slaps herself in the face, and yells, “OH, FUCK ME IN THE ASS! FUCK!”

Erin splutters, “I don't think that's a-”

Holtzmann blinks at her, looking like she'd momentarily forgotten that Erin is even in the room, despite the fact that she's literally _sitting_ on her right now, “Oh, no, not you – although, uh, if you're interested I've got-”

“Holtzmann!”

“Right. Sure. Not that. No, but I was- I just- left something in the lab which-”

“Can it wait?” asks Erin, who's suddenly aware that she's feeling very... frustrated is probably a good word. Maybe.

“Um. I mean, it _can_ ,” mumbles Holtzmann, absent-mindedly tugging on the zipper of Erin's jumpsuit, “it's just, uh, a little... what's the word...” She leans down again and kisses Erin's jaw.

“Unimportant?” suggests Erin, slightly desperately, as she reaches up to tug the zip down on Holtzmann's jumpsuit in turn, in a fashion which could only be described as exactly the opposite of absent-minded. Erin knows what she's about.

“Uh,” says Holtz, planting kisses up Erin's neck and clearly distracted at this point by the hand in her jumpsuit, “No, it was... the thing is slightly... uh-”

“Not a big problem? Something you can deal with tomorrow?”

“Mmmph... no, it's sorta... a little bit... uh,  _nuclear_.”

“Oh,” mumbles Erin, tilting her jaw back to give Holtzmann better access and letting her eyes flutter closed, “mmm, alright then.”

 

They both freeze at almost exactly the same moment.

“Wait, _nuclear?!_ ” squeaks Erin, eyes snapping open again.

“Um,” says Holtzmann. “Yeah... I should probably...” she glances at her watch, “I mean if the reactor stays stable which, there's probably a... mm...” she tugs a notepad and pen out of her pocket and rests the pad on Erin's shoulder, scribbling down a few calculations as she straightens her glasses with her free hand, “say, a forty-three percent chance that it does... we'd have about,” she scribbles for another second, and looks back at her watch, “like, ten minutes before we'd have to leave here since HQ is just 'round the corner and I reckon it can't take me more than thirty-seven minutes to get everything locked down and safe enough to, y'know, not blow the city sky-high, which-”

“Wait, slow down, what are you- what did you even manage to leave that's going to- the whole city?”

“Personal project. But like I say, my calculations suggest that there's a forty-three percent chance that we could probably spare ten - well, slightly less than ten now – minutes before we go deal with it so if you still want to-”

“Holtzmann! That's- absolutely not!” Erin manages to scramble to her feet, dragging a slightly reluctant Holtzmann with her.

 

“Yeah. Yeah, fair. That's probably a wise call,” says Holtzmann, with a slightly regretful sigh, before grabbing Erin by the hand and bolting off down the stairs. “It's just,” she says, voice muffled slightly by the clatter of boots on the concrete steps, “Y'know, there's not gonna be another chance to be drunk off our asses and just have saved the city and, well, I actually really kinda like- I mean, I'm not really good at... aw, it doesn't matter. Let's... let's just go sort this nuclear shit out, Gilbert.”

“You can call me Erin, you know.” says Erin, when they reach the foot of the stairs.

Holtzmann narrows her eyes at the cars parked either side of the street, humming slightly. “It's probably quicker to walk than to jack a car, really, since we're so close, but jacking a car would be _so_ much cooler that- wait, d'you say something?”

“Uh, well, just that you can. Uh. Call me Erin. I mean, if you want to, it's not... uh.”

“Oh.”

“Also, please don't jack a car.”

“Ok.”

“Great.”

“Erin,” says Holtzmann, thoughtfully. “You can, uh, you can still call me Holtz. Everyone does.”

“... thanks. Also, you- you should probably do your jumpsuit up. You're, uh. It's a little... not done up, right now.”

“Oh! Oh, crap, yeah, you too, uh – sorry about. That.”

“It's fine,” says Erin, staring down at her feet as she does her jumpsuit back up, night air cold against her flushed face, “these things happen.”

 

“Well,” says Holtzmann, glancing back at her watch, “we should get going. Like, right now. Or bad things are almost certainly going to happen. I mean, bad things of one sort or another are bound to happen anyway because we live in an imperfect world but. Probably less soon. And less... explosive. Yeah. We should go.”

“We should come back,” Erin says, in a moment of sudden braveness in the face of possible death and certain Holtzmann.

“What?”

“We should come back here, after we fix your... whatever you've done that's about to go nuclear and destroy the city.”

“Oh.”

“And we should have sex,” she adds, just to make double sure that this is clear. “And then, uh, I know a place that does waffles, so we can go there tomorrow. That's not really related, but... unless it's a date, I guess. Which would be... um. You know what? I'm going to shut up now.”

Holtzmann's face splits into a brilliant grin. “Erin, what, no, you don't need to shut up, that's – did I ever tell you that I _really_ like the way you think?”

 

Erin holds out her hand. “Okay, but... let's save the world first, huh?”

Holtzmann takes it with a grin, and they set off toward HQ at a run.


End file.
